


Cuts Like A Knife

by Butterfly_girl



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, Blood, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Cutting, Established Relationship, F/M, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_girl/pseuds/Butterfly_girl
Summary: Nyx's relationship with Aranea is unusual.  She turns up unannounced and disappears without warning, and he's never sure if that can be enough for him.  But when she appears on his doorstep, he finds himself unable to turn her away.





	Cuts Like A Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning: this includes consensual knifeplay, blood and cutting.
> 
> Written for FFXV RarePairs Week 2018 Day Two: Blood

There was a knock at the door and he went to answer it, the bare soles of his feet slapping against the wooden floor like the beat of a drum.

He should have been surprised to see her but nothing she did shocked him anymore, and he merely smiled at the memory of the last time she had come to his apartment. She had her back to the door when he opened it, and he noticed her shiver, tugging the sleeves of her jacket down over her hands. Her hair was longer than he remembered and she wore it loose so it trailed down her back in soft waves, the silver highlights glistening in the light of the hallway. It made her look softer somehow, more delicate, and he quickly thrust his hands into his pockets as he fought the urge to reach out and run his fingers through it. 

She turned around, leaning in quickly to place a firm kiss on his mouth. Her lips were cold and dry, and she tasted of old cigarettes and alcohol, but he pressed his own lips against hers anyway, eager for the contact. “Hey Hero,” she said, running her hand down the side of his face, the palm of her hand rough and calloused as it stroked against his chin. It felt so unfamiliar, to feel the touch of her skin rather than the smooth leather of her gloves, and he placed his hand on top of hers, running his thumb over her wrist and under her sleeve until it reached the raised edge of a scar on her forearm. They had many between them, and every time she returned to him she had more, but this was no battle scar. This held memories only the two of them shared and it was comforting to know that, however long they were apart, there would always be lasting reminders of their time together.

When she pulled away she gazed at him again, her face flushed and eyes bright as they met his, the spark there no dimmer than the last time they’d been together. She looked apologetic, he thought, although she would never say so. He was about to speak, to ask her where she’d been, when she brushed past and through the open doorway without waiting for an invitation as though it had been only hours rather than months since she’d last been there. 

He followed her to the kitchen, unable to take his eyes off her, watching closely as she shrugged off her coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. 

“You’re staying then?” he said, pouring a drink and moving across the room towards her.

“Perhaps,” she replied calmly, perching on the chair and crossing one leg over the other. It was always the same answer, never a commitment either way; and he both loved and hated her for it. She never spent long in one place, coming and going as she pleased. It was part of who she was, and she’d told him once, long ago, it was all she was able to give him, that it was his choice whether that could ever be enough for him. It wasn’t, never would be, but it was far better to have only part of her than none at all. 

She took the glass from him, her hand brushing purposefully against his, and raised it to her lips, swallowing the cool liquid in a single gulp. 

“Another?” he asked, holding out his hand for the glass.

“No.” She answered simply as she always did, shaking her head so her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Ignoring his outstretched arm, she stood up, letting her fingertips drift lightly over his hip bone as she passed him. A single finger hooked teasingly underneath the band of his pants, tugging gently before letting it ping back into place. He spun round, ready to grab hold of her and pull her close, desperate to feel her body pressed up against his, but she held out a hand in warning. Not yet. It wasn’t time for that. 

She looked back over her shoulder, emerald-green eyes brighter than he had ever seen. “Coming?” she asked, raising one eyebrow, a mischievous smile etched across her lips as she beckoned him towards her. She continued walking without waiting for a response, knowing without looking he’d be following behind. And he was, stumbling forward in a daze as though hypnotised by her, eyes drawn to her hips as they swayed from side to side, gliding across the ground, as graceful now as she had been whenever he had seen her in battle.

When they reached the bedroom, she closed the door behind them, partly drawing the curtains so the room was cast into shadow. She pulled up the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head and tossing it to one side, shaking out her hair so it billowed out around her head like a lion’s mane. He followed suit and, by the time he looked back, she had removed her pants too to reveal matching black lacy lingerie- feminine but with an edge to it, just like her. 

Suddenly he was pressed up against her, slamming her into the wall, his hands greedily exploring every nook and crevice of her body as though he was touching her for the first time. And for a moment she gave in to his desire, allowing him to run his hands over her breasts, gasping in pleasure as he pulled gently at her already erect nipples. She cupped his head in her hands, her fingers tangled in the braids at the back of his neck as she pressed her lips against his, delicately at first but soon becoming firmer and more fiery. He moved his hands to her hips, dragging a fingernail down her thigh- not with enough force to draw blood, not yet, but hard enough to cause her to whimper in pain. 

The spell was broken and she pushed him away, pressing her hands to his bare chest. Her thumb traced its way along the scar that ran down his chest, the first one she’d given him. It was perfectly smooth and silver now- the exact same shade as her hair- but he remembered when it had been an angry red, rough and raised above the surface of his skin. He watched her bite her lower lip as she recalled the memory, wondering if she thought about that moment as fondly as he did. Her smile gave him the answer he wanted and he smiled too, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, hoping for another opportunity to be close to her. 

Panting breathlessly, she gazed up at him, cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, lips swollen and slightly parted. “It’s my turn tonight,” she whispered, and he nodded in agreement, his body trembling in anticipation as she took his hand and led him over to the bed. He sat down and she pushed him backwards, kneeling down next to him and softly stroking his hair away from his face. She bent over, letting her lips drift tenderly over his, sweeping her hair over one shoulder so the ends tickled his chest. “Potions in the same place as usual?” she asked quietly, and he nodded again, glancing in the direction of a small cupboard next to the bed. He never wanted to use them, preferring instead to watch the wounds heal over slowly, leaving behind a scar, a reminder. But he kept them there anyway, just in case. And even though she knew that, she continued to ask the question, and he appreciated her all the more for it.

They’d done this often enough for her to know where he kept his kukris, and she was back on the bed with one clutched in her hand before he’d even realised she’d gone. She slung one leg over his body so her thighs were clenched around his hips, leaning forwards so her breasts rested on his chest. She let her lips dust once again over his jawbone before pushing herself back up and placing the blade down behind her, out of harms way. Wrapping her hands around his wrists, she pulled them in front of his chest, her warm fingers pressed tightly into his skin as she held them there for a moment. She glanced over, a wordless question passing between them as their eyes locked together. He smiled softly, the only cue she needed to begin, and he watched with wide eyes as she gracefully tied his wrists together, accomplished fingers working quickly and deftly to tie a knot in just the right position so it slipped just between his hands rather than pressing against the sensitive tendons that sat inside his wrist. She lifted his hands above his head, securing the rope around the bars of the headboard. 

She reached back for the knife, holding it just in front of his face so that it glinted ominously in the last remaining rays of sunlight. It was a weapon without mercy and kindness, one which he had used himself to instil terror into the souls of his enemies. It was ruthless and lethal, but he felt no fear. “Is this what you want?” she asked, pausing to give him time to answer. 

He trusted her and she him, and he was ready for her to once again leave her mark on him. It was the only thing that made her long absences bearable. “Yes,” he replied, his voice quivering as the words caught in the back of his throat. 

A quick grin and the flat blade was pushed against his chest, pressing against that first scar. The metal was cold enough to pull the heat from his skin and he let out a small moan, impulsively tugging on his restraints as he tried to bring his hands down to protect himself. She waited for him to be still before continuing, grazing the sharp tip against the edge of the scar, dragging it across his chest and to the top of his thighs, tracing the line of his hip bone in one long, sweeping motion. Her movements were gentle for now, teasing him, pressing into his flesh just firmly enough for him to feel the shapes she was drawing.

The tip of the blade was brought against his nipple, circling around it, getting closer and closer until it flicked against it, the pain sharp and sudden. He gripped the rope tightly in his hands and gritted his teeth. Keeping still was hard, but he knew it was how she liked it. 

She leant forward again, and he could see she was breathing heavily, her face and chest flushed pink and her eyes glowing. He held his breath as she drew the sharp edge down the side of his face, starting in the middle of his forehead and mirroring his hairline until she reached his chin. There was a small scar there already, faded to white after so many years, and she placed a tender kiss on it, her lips warm and soft as they lingered just above the surface of his skin. His own lips tingled as cold metal was pulled across them, and he let out another moan. 

“Shh,” she whispered, laying a finger over his lips and stroking them softly. He opened his mouth slightly, allowing one finger tip to slip just inside, where he sucked gently as it explored the sensitive area inside his lower lip.

Sitting up, she examined him closely before placing the blade gently against a spot on the left side of his stomach. “Are you sure?” she asked, and he replied with a small smile. He was sure. This was what he wanted. 

She dug the tip into the spot she had chosen, pressing it down with enough pressure to break the skin, and he gasped as waves of pain rushed through his body, an intense sting that spread outwards from the entry point. Far from being unwelcome, it was a much needed release and he felt his body relax, closing his eyes as a trickle of warm blood dribbled down his side and underneath his back. He could feel her watching him, checking he was okay for her to continue, but he didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to savour this moment, for he never knew how long it would be before she returned for more. 

There was another pause as she swept a hand over his stomach, and when she removed it the trail of deep crimson had become a smudge of paler red that accentuated the curves of his muscles. She caressed his cheek and let her fingers slide across to his mouth, tracing the corners of his upturned lips, the metallic, salty flavour of his own blood drifting over his tongue. Suddenly, her mouth was slammed against his, her tongue searching for the seam between his lips and snaking its way inside. She pushed herself down onto him, her breasts burning hot as they rubbed his chest, the insides of her thighs clammy and sweaty, slapping against his hips as she moved up and down.

He lifted his head up to press into the kiss and she pulled away, bringing the blade back down to his stomach and pushing it down on the already-broken skin. He barely flinched, the pain duller now than before, aching rather than stinging, and she pressed down harder, her eyes twinkling as she stared at him, waiting for his permission to cut him again. 

Nodding briefly, he closed his fists over the knot of the rope, rolling it over the palms of his hands, preparing himself for what was to come. He watched as she dragged the blade across his stomach in a perfect curve, precise yet free, as though she was an artist adding paint to an unfinished canvass. It was almost effortless in the end, the sharp edge slicing through his flesh smoothly, the gash it left behind deep but clean. She held his hand as they both watched the line of the wound flood with garish crimson, welling up to the surface and seeping away, etching sticky red streaks across his stomach. She dropped a kiss on his forehead, her smile sweeter this time and filled with affection, and he squeezed her hand as a sign of thanks.

Later, when the wound had been cleaned and dressed to stop infection, they made love, and it was wonderful as it always was when they were together. And when they were both satisfied, she curled up next to him, her head resting on his chest, her fingers running through his hair in gentle, soothing motions. He loved her the most when she was like this, eyes half open, lips curved into a peaceful smile, hair billowing out around her face. 

He felt his eyes begin to close but he didn’t want to sleep, sure that when he awoke she would no longer be by his side. He loved her but he hated her for refusing to stay, for refusing to give herself to him. She’d never change and neither would he, and he’d made his decision long ago. But still he forced his eyes to stay open as long as possible, memorising every curve, every scar, every mark on her body, storing it in his memory until the next time she appeared. 

And maybe he would never have all of her, and maybe he’d find a way to be okay with that. Maybe this was all he needed. Maybe, after all, this was enough…

**Author's Note:**

> [Come and chat on tumblr](https://butterfly-girl86.tumblr.com/).


End file.
